Lifeless
by NeverBeenDarkMarked
Summary: You know how Sirius was there on the night the Potters died? Imagine how he would have felt finding his best friend lying lifeless where he fell.


Um... hello? It's been years since I've been around, but on the off chance that some of you remember me, I'm back. Kind of. The other day I started writing HP fic again. This little piece is the first of what I'm sure will be a long relapse into writing for my favourite fictional world again. However, I'm not going to be using this old account anymore. It's been so long, and I've improved and changed so much writing-wise that it seems weird to use the same pen name. So from now on you can find me on ao3 under the name freckledweasley. I've put a link in my profile. Hopefully you'll enjoy my return to HP fic as much as I have. I'd love to hear from you all in reviews again. Here goes the last story on this account...

On the night that Voldemort kills the Potters and Hagrid takes Harry away, refusing to hand him over to his godfather, he leaves Sirius alone at the cottage. I couldn't help thinking about what he would find inside.

* * *

His first thought is one of total shock. A thought rather out of place, rather misguided. Full of deep horrible incomprehension.

And he almost, almost, lets out an uncertain laugh.

Because it's so surreal how lifeless James actually looks.

Of course, he _is_ lifeless. But it's a look that seems so separated from everything he was, Sirius can barely understand it. His brain takes an agonising moment to catch up with reality. Even though he _knew –_ he knew the moment he caught sight of the house in ruins, knew from his talk with Hagrid outside, knew somewhere deep inside before he even made the flight to Godric's Hollow – that he would be faced with this, he couldn't have prepared himself. He could never have expected, never have known, never been ready for what it _actually looked like_.

Even though, over and over, with each dreaded step toward the broken front door, he'd told himself his best friend would be dead inside, he'd never imagined he would find James like _this._

Lifeless.

And now, looking at him, Sirius really fully understands the implications of what that means.

And all he _can_ do is look at him; look helplessly on while his chest feels full and empty all at once and he can't actually breathe. He definitely can't stop crying. Doesn't even remember when he started. But he cheeks are wet.

His best friend is so _broken._ So _small._

And, god, hasn't James always been so full of life? Even at his worst, in his moments of deepest pain, he had that spark in his eye, that fire in his chest that sent him barrelling on through every second like it held some significance. He never lost his passion. He never lost his drive. He lived with that ridiculous sense of absolute unflinching determination to just _be._ For goodness sakes, even when he was _asleep_ he couldn't stay still.

James was made to be moving and breathing and laughing and crying and shouting and _living._

And now he is lifeless.

And Sirius is lost.

He starts moving again, somehow, and lets his knees give out under him when he reaches James' side.

"Prongs?" He says quietly, just because he needs something to make it feel real, and his voice is the easiest way to break the silence.

The tears start again in full, the same tears wrenched out of him earlier, as he watched Harry fly from his reach. But he blinks them back and tries not to let his vision blur.

Because it's what's meant to done, like a reflex reaction, Sirius fumbles his wand from the inside pocket of his robes and waves in across the still chest in front of him. It's a simple spell, to check for a heartbeat; a spell he knows is pointless, and yet has to try. A wave of light beams forward, landing over James' heart and then beaming up to the ceiling in a straight line.

Sirius waits. He waits longer than he needs to, but he doesn't even expect the line to flicker with the indication of a heartbeat. Not anymore.

He almost believes that if he directed the spell to his own chest, his heat wouldn't be beating either.

When the spell senses no response, the light fades completely. Sirius is still a little longer. He stares.

Eventually, the wand falls from his grip, and he lets it go. Somewhere, it the back of his mind, he knows he'll need it again. Later, there will be the search for Peter, the confrontation, the horrible moment where he finds out what _happened_ to their friendship. He'll have the chance to scream in pain, in rage, at the man who betrayed them all. Maybe, in some way, he'll even understand _why all of this happened._

But now, Sirius' thoughts jumble and tangle and don't give him time to focus on the future. He can't think about the consequences of his best friend's death until he's finished processing to death itself.

Now, he can forget his wand, forget his magic, and forget the rest of the world.

Because the boy who was made to be alive is dead.

Sirius reaches out his hand, ignoring how it shakes, and brushes that messy black hair away from James' face. He looks so _young_. Technically he _is_ young, but Sirius is hardly seeing James' face exactly as it is.

He's seeing a grinning boy on the Hogwart's express, raising an imaginary sword and declaring himself a Gryffindor before even the hat has a chance to. He's seeing the exuberant cheering of a proud friend as they succeed in animagus transformation for the very first time. He's seeing the wild excitement of a post-Quidditch-match star chaser swept off his broomstick by a team screaming in victory. He's seeing a furious young man shouting the harshest truths at him for putting the lives of Snape, Remus, and the whole school at risk for the sake of a single prank. He's seeing a love-struck teenager watching Lily Evans across a classroom with the goofiest smile on his face. He's seeing the hard set of a jawline as they each shake Dumbledore's hand and officially join the Order of the Phoenix. He's seeing the dumbstruck adoration in the eyes of a father holding his son in his arms for the very first time.

And yet, he's also seeing the usually dark skin gone paler, the usually vibrant eyes staring ahead in their sockets, the usually expressive mouth gone slack.

James' glasses are broken. Sirius' right hand finds his wand on the floor again, fumbling, and he fixes them.

" _Occulus Reparo_ ,"

They gleam good as new.

And he realises almost simultaneously that it doesn't even matter.

James is dead. Glasses don't do a thing to help eyes that can't see. Sirius takes them off and, his hand still trembling along with each shallow, close-to-sobbing breath, closes the hazel eyes that look all the more vulnerable without them.

Then he sits back, back against the wall, and lets out a shaky sound of pain. The despair takes over his whole body, wracking his frame with shuddering sobs. He may have been crying for most of the evening, but this time is different. This time he's alone. This time he can really let go. He gives way to it. He lets it envelope him until he feels nothing but pain.

Everything is wrong tonight.

Harry is gone. James is dead. And Lily – _oh god_ – Lily is dead too.

He can't breathe for moment as a new wave of pain overtakes him and that starts to sink in as well. Sirius wants to go and find her body too, say goodbye to the woman who may as well have been his own sister. But he can't move right now.

 _Later,_ he thinks. _Later._

He could save everything for later. He would save the rest of his life for "later" if he could.

He looks at the stars, peeking through the collapsed roof that used to be the Potter's living room ceiling. They blur into shivering dashes of light through the tears clinging to his eyelashes. He thinks about – about _everything_.

It's almost peaceful. In the most horrible way, of course.

It's just that he's so _alone_ here, in the house for so long hidden from the known world, with the sky above and the streets around them fallen almost silent. It's like the world itself stopped to mourn the way life faded from James and Lily Potter.

It isn't rational, but for as long as he stays, Sirius is almost sure that nothing can touch him.

He's not really aware of how much time is passing. It feels like hours. But at some point he manages to stop crying. The broken sobs turn to shallow gasps. His tears dry up and disappear and he just simply loses the energy it takes to continue weeping so deeply. His breathing evens.

A dull thud against his skull is the only thing left to beat out his sorrow. Other than that, he's just a hollow shell of a once extraordinary guy, slumped against the wall like he couldn't move if he tried. His eyes are red and raw, and his face feels damp. When he licks his lips, he can taste salt. It almost reminds him of the taste of blood.

The world starts moving again.

He becomes aware of the wind in the trees, the sounds of scattered autumn leaves blown into the shattered building around him.

His thoughts are latching on to the few things left behind.

Little Harry Potter comes back to him first; the image of his face, all chubby cheeks and bright green eyes and that ridiculous mop of hair already sticking straight out from his head. It hits him, heavily, that this much loved child is an orphan now. But, with absolute certainly, Sirius knows he would do anything for the kid. Anything at all.

Unfortunately, right now, there isn't actually anything he _can_ do for his godson. Dumbledore has some other plan for Harry, one that Sirius can't even guess at. He knows he would never have succeeded in convincing Hagrid to hand over the baby against those orders. For now, he has to trust in whatever Dumbledore has planned.

It's hard to swallow. He craves the kid's presence more than anything else in the world. All he wants is to hold him tight to his chest and whisper, gently, that everything will be okay.

But Sirius has other things to do. Things which, for now, will have to consume his time while someone else ensures Harry's safety.

He leans forward and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to free himself of the hopelessness that clutches his throat like a fist. They sting from crying, yet they seem to have dried up for now. His misery has dropped to a painful background burn, and in its place, a quivering rage begins to build deep in his belly. When his hands fall to his sides and James' body comes back into focus, that fury sweeps right over him. He clenches his fists, tightens his jaw, and stands up.

Because they think Sirius did it.

Every person left alive on this earth, with the exception of Peter fucking Pettigrew, will think that Sirius Black gave up his dearest friends to the Dark Lord's mercy.

"They think I'm the secret keeper, James." He says, voice hoarse from crying and startling him with how bitter it sounds already. "They think I betrayed you to the Dark Lord like you didn't mean a thing to me. Dumbledore, the Order, the Ministry. They're all going to think I did this. Hell, _Remus_ might even think I did this."

That thought chills him right down to his core. For a moment, he manages to quell his anger, completely frozen by the new horror that rises to wash over him.

Remus will have no alternative. There's so much unquestionable evidence that Sirius is the guilty party, there's no way the other man could even consider anything else. _Everyone_ thinks the Potters made Sirius their secret keeper. _No one_ knows about the switch.

No one will stand by him and support the truth.

For a moment, he thinks about how badly this will break Moony's heart. He thinks back over the war that has pulled their friendship apart. He remembers the months filled with his own awful suspicion; being sure they had a spy in their midst, worrying it was Remus. Even those vague growing doubts had broken his heart. The rift that had slowly yawned wider and wider between them had broken his heart. But this? This is something more, something worse.

Sirius can only imagine what it must feel like for his only remaining best friend. He can only _guess_ what this seemingly solid confirmation of betrayal will do to Remus. With a shuddery breath, hands still clenched into fists, he attempts to picture his face when he finds out. On top of everything else, it's simply too painful to even imagine.

Sirius squeezes his eyes shut, holds back more tears. He doesn't have time now. He has things to do.

He looks back down at the empty body at his feet, opens his mouth as if he'll say goodbye, and then closes it again.

 _Not yet_ , he tells himself. _Not yet._

He steps past James instead and walks up the stairs to find Lily's body. Even if she deserved no part of the fate she met tonight, she at least deserves a goodbye. It's all Sirius has left to give.

She lies in the bedroom, by the side of Harry's crib, floor half caved in around her, and Sirius chokes out another broken sound at the sight. It's a struggle to keep composed, to prevent himself from shattering into a miserable mess again. As it is, he feels his vision blur with tears.

He knows he'll be dreaming about both of these lifeless faces for as long as he lives.

Lily is sprawled uncomfortably, having crumpled to the ground. Again without thinking, he adjusts her position as if it could make any difference to her now. Her thick hair shifts through his hands as he straightens her neck, turning her forward. He can tell by her position that she died shielding her the now broken crib; protecting her son. He swallows a sob.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, Evans." He says despairingly. Like always, talking to Lily somehow helps him feel more at ease, even if he can't see her listening anymore. Words tumble out of him of their own accord. "I'm so sorry I wasn't any help. I should have been here. I should have. I- I didn't get here soon enough, I- When I saw Peter was gone I came as fast as I could but, god, I'd give- I'd give anything if I could- I'm so sorry I made you change your secret keeper. This is- I was- I underestimated him and I misinterpreted everything and I'm so- I'm just so sorry."

Of course, there isn't any reply.

"I'm so sorry." He says one more time. "This is my fault. I-"

Tears spill over again, but he dashes them away quickly, anger bubbling up too close to the surface.

"This is my fault."

That thought will hit him harder later on. That thought will drown him in Azkaban. It will bury him deep in its horrible guilt and fill his heart with its horror. But now, he pushes past it, blind range filling him more quickly than he imagined it could.

He grits his teeth, and thinks of Peter.

"I'll fix this. I'll try to make this right." His head feels full. He can't tell if it's from the images beating against his skull, or just because the crying stuffed him up. "I'll do whatever it takes."

Lily gives no response.

Resolve growing by the minute, Sirius lifts his wand again. He has to leave soon, but he won't leave his best friends like this. They deserve to be together. With a deep breath and a flick of the wrist, he directs his wand upward and levitates Lily's body. It may not be the smartest thing he's ever done, using magic, interfering with the dead when he knows the Ministry will be crawling all over this scene as soon as they can, but he can't bear to keep them apart.

Carefully, he carries Lily down the stairs, his spell keeping her afloat until he lets her drift to the floor at her husband's side.

They look so fragile. So young to be married. So young to be parents. So young to be _dead._

And, again, he becomes so awfully aware that _this_ is all he has now. One final goodbye.

He won't be going to their funeral. He won't see them buried. He probably won't even be able to visit their grave. Depending on how things turn out later, he'll either spend the rest of his life in jail for Peter's crime, or he'll be tied up in proceedings proving the other man's guilt.

Or Voldemort will come for him. He might be slaughtered like the Potters; wiped off the face of the earth with no trace but a body that doesn't even look like his anymore. For a fleeting moment, it doesn't seem like such a terrible idea.

Until he remembers little Harry James Potter.

The kid needs his godfather now more than ever. Sirius has to be there for him. There is no other option.

A steely determination runs through him, and suddenly, his anger is back. It's easier to be furious with Peter than it is to think about anything else. He can't believe the same man who held the Potter's baby in nervous shaky hands on the day he was born, who looked into those green eyes and stroked that tuft of black hair and laughed when Harry made even the tiniest noise, could turn around and betray the family to the Dark Lord.

It's so ridiculously painfully _awful_ he can barely see straight past his own fury.

"You know, I'm the only one who can track Peter down." Sirius says aloud, wishing his voice was hard rather than trembling with emotion. He's vaguely aware that his hands are starting to shake with rage. "He'll be sorry he ever did this to you."

He wants to leave right now, get started on the search. There's no way to know where Peter will be, and he'll certainly need time to track him down. The bloody traitor may even have taken on his animagus form. Sirius barely knows where to begin.

And on top of that, the Ministry will be here soon.

Sirius grits his teeth and furiously wipes more tears away. The moment Hagrid left the cottage, it was only a matter of time before the authorities got involved. Without a doubt, they'll come for him. He'll need to disapparate before they do.

But, god, he can't _leave._ He can't bear the thoughts of James and Lily's bodies sitting lonely and abandoned in a house torn open to the rest of the world.

He leans back against the wall, folds his arms, closes his eyes.

This is his vigil. He'll stay by James' side until he has no other choice.

Sirius lets his head fall back, and his thoughts overtake him, fueling his anger like a forest set ablaze. He already feels like a completely different person; transformed by his pain.

…

He waits another half an hour before a faint popping sound from the front path alerts him to the arrival of the first of the aurors, apparating in from the Ministry and probably expecting the house to be empty. They're only a few paces away from the front steps, where the broken door will leave him completely exposed.

Sirius pushes back off the wall and straightens his dusty coat. With a tremble still shaking at his hands and a wobble to his lower lip, he whispers his final words.

"Goodbye."

James and Lily lie utterly still, but in his mind's eye he can see them as if they're standing above the bodies, arms around each other, bidding him farewell in return. He pictures their expressions, rueful and yet filled with the same determination running through his own blood. He can imagine exactly how Lily would raise an eyebrow and tilt her head to the side, wondering why he's waiting around so long. And James would nod, eyes hard, and give Sirius a salute that was only half a joke.

" _Goodbye, Black."_ Lily would joke.

" _Goodbye, Prongs."_ James would say, and then try for a smile. " _Now get going. Can't wait around all day."_

With his eyes set hard and full of dark fire, his muscles wound tight, his heart pounding, Sirius Black turns on the spot. And he vanishes.


End file.
